Chapter One

 

“Don’t look now, Smoke, but I think we’re being watched.”

Steve Tannen, “Smoke” to his friends, grunted in affirmation. The hairs on the back of his neck had been standing on end from the moment they had arrived. He wasn’t too worried, though. The energy felt more curious and cautious than threatening. He wasn’t psychic, not by any means, but his years as a SEAL had honed his instincts, and he knew when he was in someone’s sights.

With each haul up the seven flights, he had tried to zero in on the source. He was pretty sure it came from the apartment next to his; the feeling had been strongest each time he had passed by.

“Must be a woman,” added Hugh “Heff” Bradley, nicknamed after Hugh Heffner for his womanizing ways. “And a pretty one, too.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Smoke growled. He didn’t want any of Heff’s loose ends tripping him up. It seemed no matter where they went, there was some lovesick chick making cow eyes at the former sniper.

Heff liked to claim his dick was a divining rod, an unfailing compass to beautiful, passionate women. Given the number of hot, willing women Heff went through on a regular basis, there might have been a grain of truth to that.

Since Smoke was the one who had to live next to her, Heff would not be dipping his wick here. Smoke refused to bear the brunt of the female’s inevitable hurt, anger, and/or rejection when Heff lost interest, as he would after a night or few.

Smoke received an unrepentant grin in response. “No promises. Isn’t there some old disco song about finding heaven on the seventh floor?”

“Cut it out with that disco shit, will you?” groaned Brian “Mad Dog” Sheppard beneath the weight of the box spring. “Disco’s dead, man. It died before you were born. Accept it. Move on.”

“Never,” Heff said on a laugh. “Tony Manero was, and always will be, my idol.”

Regardless, it didn’t matter to Smoke if his peeping neighbor was pretty or not. As long as she was quiet, kept to herself, and didn’t bother him, they would get along just fine. Smoke preferred to keep the social interaction to a minimum, and he made it a point never to get involved with a woman who knew where he lived. He wasn’t a manwhore like Heff, but he wasn’t into relationships, either. Part of that was due to his transitory lifestyle; but more importantly, he had never met a woman who made him think otherwise. Now at thirty-one years old, he was beginning to accept that might never happen.

Heff had once joked that, when it came to women, Smoke had the emotional range of a pet rock and the charm to match. He wasn’t wrong. Despite popular romantic ideals, not everyone was destined for a ball and chain.

Maybe that attitude was part of the problem. He equated serious relationships right up there with punishment.

It wouldn’t be like that if you found the right one.

He snorted inwardly. Another worthless, romantic ideal. There was no right one, not for him. Women might like the packaging, might like the idea of bagging a SEAL, but they didn’t give a lick about him. Nor were they willing, or able, to deal with the reality of a man who had looked at things as black or white for so long that he was no longer capable of seeing the grays.

He didn’t blame them, either. He understood where they were coming from. He had enough trouble keeping his own head on straight; the last thing he wanted was to deal with someone else’s baggage, too. And to be responsible for someone else’s happiness? That was a great, big “thanks, but no thanks.”

Moving in didn’t take long. Smoke didn’t have much in the way of possessions. Acquiring shit didn’t make sense when his life had been more mobile than stationary for so long. The bulk of the last twelve years had been spent in the military, but a smart man knew when it was time to pack it in.

He had killed too many men to count, but he would be damned if he lost one of his own because his sanity had been stretched to the breaking point.

When his old SEAL buddy Matt “Church” Winston called about his new business venture, Steve found himself saying yes … at least for now.

The plan was to convert an old mountain resort into a safe place for vets returning to civilian life. Sounded exactly like what he needed. He had forgotten how to be a regular citizen; lost sight of how to play the game and deal with shit by something other than the “any means necessary” mentality that had been drilled into him.

Apparently, it wasn’t just him. Lots of others had some issues readjusting, too, which was the whole point of Church’s project. Maybe it would work; maybe it wouldn’t. Church and Heff, Smoke knew well enough, but the others, not so much. Like any new team, things would shake out over time. Some would stay; some wouldn’t. He would re-evaluate things and see where he was once Phase I was complete in about six to nine months. In the meantime, he was renting this place on a month-by-month basis.

He could have bunked with one of the others in the trailers they had on site, but just the thought of being enclosed in a cramped tin can was enough to give him a case of the sweats.

The small village of Sumneyville was only about thirty minutes from the site. It would give him the space he needed while he got his shit together and started feeling more like a citizen and less like a soldier.

“Looking pretty sparse, dude.” This from Nick “Cage” Fumanti as he looked around the mostly empty space.

It did look pretty sparse. A brand-new box spring and mattress sat in the lone bedroom. A new recliner sat in the living room, along with his new flat screen. The rest consisted of a few boxes of clothes, weapons, and ammo.

The essentials.

There wasn’t much sense in acquiring a bunch of stuff he would have to move again in the next couple of months, anyway. If he decided to stick around for a while, he would be relocating to staff housing at the resort. And if he didn’t, well, he doubted he would be setting down roots in Sumneyville. Until then, this small apartment was just a temporary place to set his ass.

For a small-town apartment, it wasn’t bad. One of the reasons he had chosen this place was because of the many windows and large balcony. Since that last tour, when a cave-in trapped him underground for sixteen days, he had become partial to open space, and lots of it.

He crossed the room and opened the sliding doors to step outside. A deep inhale brought with it the scent of approaching rain and freshly cut grass.

A thick copse of trees separated the building’s private parking lot from the well-tended public park beyond, with a lighted, landscaped pathway connecting the two areas. From this height, the mountains surrounding the idyllic valley town were visible. It was a great spot to chill with a couple of cold ones. He made a mental note to pick up a deck chair and a cooler ASAP.

“Nice view.” Cage joined him on the balcony, taking it all in. Smoke knew he was noting escape routes and calculating trajectories. Those things were ingrained in them now, as autonomic as breathing and heartbeats.

“Hello. Is that a pool over there?” Heff asked, appearing between them.

Steve didn’t have to look to know he had spotted the fenced-in, private area off to the right. “Yeah. So?”

“Scenic summer views, man.”

Before Smoke could respond, Mad Dog’s rough voice rumbled from inside. “Hey, didn’t you say something about pizza and beer? All that moving worked up an appetite.” The guy was built like a tank, and he was always hungry.

Smoke laughed but refrained from pointing out that his lack of worldly possessions had necessitated only two trips.

Seeing as his fridge was empty and the only seating he could offer them was the floor, going out did seem like the best option. He would think about getting more furniture later. Maybe. He didn’t plan on doing much entertaining, nor did he want this place to become a place to hang out. Now that he actually had a space of his own, he wanted to enjoy it.

“What’s good around here?”

“Franco’s is good,” Doc offered helpfully. “They’ve got deep dish and thin crust, plus plenty on tap.”

That sounded good to him.

As Smoke followed them out and locked up, he braced himself for the sensation of being watched again. However, the back of his neck remained prickle-free.

* * *

Samantha Appelhoff quietly untucked her legs and set her tea down, listening as the tread of heavy footsteps passed her door and faded into the stairwell. At least one of them was her new neighbor.

Their deep voices had resonated through the thin drywall. If she had held her ear up to the wall that adjoined their apartments, she might have been able to make out what they were saying, but she wasn’t one to pry. Sure, she had watched from her peephole, but that was just practical vigilance. She liked to be aware of her surroundings, and that included who did, and didn’t, belong on her floor.

A key was required to get into the building, but that didn’t make it safe. Her last place had that, too, and that hadn’t kept it from being broken into and burglarized. Where there was a will, there was a way, and criminals could be pretty determined.

The ideal, of course, would be to live somewhere with actual security, like a guard or a doorman, but this was a small town. Even if there had been a high-security building in the area, it would undoubtedly be beyond her modest price range, especially if she hoped to buy the small café she worked at when the current owner retired.

Sam padded on silent feet to the sliding glass doors, peering cautiously through the sheer curtains to the private parking lot below. Before long, half a dozen men appeared. She wasn’t sure which one was her new neighbor.

All of them walked tall, with the swagger of men confident in their abilities. Probably military, if she had to guess.

Regardless, her new neighbor’s past was none of her business. She had no intention of striking up a friendship or anything else with him or his friends. As long as he kept the noise down to an acceptable level and stayed out of her way, they would get along just fine.

Two of them climbed up into a huge flatbed pickup, two into a black SUV with tinted windows, and two into a Wrangler. As if sensing her gaze, the one getting into the driver’s side of the Jeep paused and looked up, right at her.

Sam stepped back quickly.

Had he seen her?

No, he couldn’t have. She was seven floors up and had been behind the sheers. He was probably looking up to check that he had closed his windows, since darkening skies and the scent of moisture in the air meant a storm was on the way.

It hadn’t felt like that, though. It was as if he had known she was watching and locked right onto her with eerie accuracy.

Fighting a shiver, she leaned forward again, just in time to see the vehicles pulling out onto the street and heading north.

* * *

Anthony checked his reflection in the window, smiling at the result. No one would ever recognize him in this getup. He was a human chameleon; able to change his outward appearance at will with clever disguises. He would reveal himself eventually, of course, but not yet.

He wouldn’t leave anything to chance this time. Everything had to be perfect.

Each day brought him closer to making her his forever.

He hated that he had scared her, but visiting her home had been necessary. He had needed something of hers. Something intimate. Something recent and personal so he could feel close to her until the time was right. Like the simple cotton nightgown he had removed from her hamper that held her scent. He had wrapped it around his pillow so that, when he slept, he could pretend she was next to him. And the small, feminine handkerchief he kept in his pocket at all times so that, no matter where he was, she was right there with him. It wasn’t quite the same as being able to reach out and touch her, but it was something.

Her subsequent relocation had been unexpected and unfortunate, but he had allowed for minor hiccups here and there. She hadn’t gone far, and it had been child’s play to find her again. His efforts would pay off in the end.

Anthony’s steps slowed when he reached the apartment building. Several large men were maneuvering a recliner through the front door. He didn’t like the look of them. They looked like those arrogant, cocky, military assholes who thought they were better than everyone else. Still, he forced a smile and held the door, then slipped in behind them.

Pretending to check his mailbox, he watched out of his peripheral vision as they got the big chair on the elevator. His heart and fists squeezed when he watched the digital display stop at number seven. Her floor.

One of those guys must have taken the empty apartment next to Samantha’s. That complicated things.

Anthony turned around and left before they came back down. This was just another test; another challenge to prove he was worthy. And this time, he wouldn’t fail.